


Someone to Watch Over Me

by thelifeinpink



Category: Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Angst, BAFTAs, Celebrities, F/M, Stalking, Sympathy Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelifeinpink/pseuds/thelifeinpink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 2012 BAFTAs leave Benedict with a bitter taste in his mouth, and his girlfriend Clara is trying to help him out of his funk. Little does she know, Benedict has an admirer whose infatuation may lead her down dangerous paths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pre-Show Jitters

“Keep still, dear, or you’re going to show up to this thing looking like Pennywise.”

Clara rolled her eyes as she swatted her best friend’s hand away. “Surely it doesn’t take twenty minutes to put on lipstick, Anton!” She got up from the kitchen table and over to the bathroom to take a look in the mirror. “It looks fine! I need to be getting my dress on soon before Ben’s stylist gets here to do my hair.”

Before she could make her way down the hall to the bedroom, Anton sprang from his chair and hauled her back to the table, where all manner of pencils, palettes, pots and wands were laid out before her. “You’re not going near that thing until I’ve finished,” he said, an edge creeping into his voice. “This is your first red carpet, and I’ll be damned if I let you go out there with your face half-done!” Clara frowned, and Anton’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, love. Can you close your eyes, please?”

Clara obliged. Anton was right; she wanted to look absolutely perfect tonight, not just because of the gaggles of press that would be lining the red carpet, but because she’d be on the arm of one of the most well-known, well-loved actors in Britain. For him, she’d settle for nothing less than the best.

Twenty minutes later, Anton declared his work finished, at which point Clara bolted from the kitchen down the hall to the bedroom, and Anton slouched onto the sofa and turned on Jeremy Kyle. Clara yanked open the bedroom door and smiled down at the king-size bed, where her gown was laid out in all its majesty. She had searched for weeks to find the perfect dress, something that was both classy and comfortable which would make Benedict’s jaw drop when he saw it. She had a hard time hiding it from him for a whole week; she caught him on several occasions trying to sneak through her wardrobe when he thought she was taking a bath. He wouldn’t see it until he got home from the tailor with his own suit, which would be soon. 

She pulled her sweatshirt and sports bra over her head in one go and shimmied out of her yoga pants and underwear, standing naked in front of the bed. She picked up the strapless red lace bra off the bed and hooked it on behind her back. She shivered; the clasps were cold against her skin. She pulled on the matching lace knickers, followed by nude pantyhose, and with a deep breath, slid the scarlet BCBG gown out of the garment bag and laid it out in front of her. From the back, it looked like a full-length dress, but at the front, the hem shot up to well above the knee, creating a daring yet sophisticated overall look. She grinned as she unzipped the back, thinking how Benedict would react upon seeing her in it, her hair and makeup all done up. She slipped carefully into it, one foot at a time, taking care that nothing should snag. Midway through zipping it up her back, the doorbell rang.

“Anton, can you get that? It’s probably the stylist to do my hair.”

“Yep!” Clara heard rustling, which could only mean Anton dislodging himself from the sofa. “Oh Christ, I’m late! Gotta dash, love, have fun tonight!” Clara heard murmurs of greeting between Anton and the stylist as the door opened and then closed. Presently Mina, Benedict’s hair and makeup assistant, entered the bedroom carrying two immense black bags, one slung over each shoulder.

“Lovely dress, Clara,” she uttered, breathing heavily. Clara moved to take the bags from her, clearly the cause of her exertion, but she jerked away. “No, I’m quite alright, you just sit down at the vanity there and we can get started on that head of yours.” Clara did as she was told, carefully tucking the dress under her as she sat down. Mina plugged in her hair straightener and set it on the desk, then pulled out a bristle brush from one of her bags and removed the elastic from Clara’s hair, which fell about her shoulders in soft, chestnut waves. She began to speak soothingly as she brushed.

“So are you excited for tonight, then?”

Clara tensed in spite of herself. “Very. I’m quite nervous, though. This is Ben’s night, and even though he likes to shrug this thing off like it’s nothing, I know he wants that BAFTA. He deserves that BAFTA, Mina, you know he does.”

“’Course he does,” Mina uttered gently. “But looking worried next to him isn’t going to give him much confidence now, is it? Head down.”

Clara smiled quietly as she looked down at her lap. She felt the hot straightener pass near her neck as Mina worked efficiently to batten down her naturally wavy hair. When the stylist began to pin it up into a cross-hatched bun, Clara’s phone rang.

“May I get that?” she asked Mina, unmoving.

Mina pulled back. “Go ahead.”

Clara picked up the phone from the vanity. “Hello?”

“Hello, darling. Just picked up the suit, is Mina there yet?”

Clara smiled at the deep baritone that greeted her. “Yes, she’s doing my hair right now. You’ll be back soon, then?”

“Yep, depending on traffic, which doesn’t look bad at the moment, but you know rush hour.”

Clara sighed and looked at the clock on the wall next to her. “Alright well don’t speed, but get here as soon as you can. I want to take some pictures in the garden before we head off.”

“Your wish is my command, darling.” Clara heard a car door shut on his end. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Mmm, bye.” Clara put the phone down and Mina resumed her slow yet methodical work.

Half an hour later, just as Mina was applying the final touches of hairspray to Clara’s hairdo, the sound of a key rattling in the front door almost made Clara jump out of her chair. She remained composed, however, and got a nod of affirmation from Mina before getting up and padded over to the other side of the room and opened the shoebox containing a pair of jet-black Louboutins. They were the most expensive pair of shoes that she owned: a gift from Benedict when he received his nomination. She turned one of them over in her hands, running her fingertips gently along the immaculate red soles. These are works of art, she thought, and I’m supposed to put them on my feet? Christ. 

“Honey, I’m home!” Benedict called as the front door closed behind him. “Where’s Mina?”

“In the bedroom. Hang on just a moment, though. I have to get my shoes on.”

“You’re already dressed?” Clara relished the shock in his voice as she carefully stepped into the shoes. She walked over to the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door and looked at herself.

“Perfect,” she whispered. Mina came up behind her and looked at her up and down. 

“Almost,” Mina replied and went over to one of her bags and pulled out a rather large white, hinged box. She opened it and pulled out a dazzling diamond necklace.  
“I can’t wear that,” Clara laughed in spite of herself. “What if I lose it?”

“Simple: don’t lose it, or you get to pay two hundred grand to replace it,” Mina smirked as she hooked the jewelled piece at the nape of Clara’s neck. She took a step back. “There. Now you’re perfect.”

A knock at the bedroom door prompted Clara to look at Mina for a final approval. When Mina smiled and mouthed, “you’re ready,” Clara knew she was as ready as she was ever going to be.

“Yes, you can come in.”

The door opened, and Benedict slowly entered, his garment bag slung over one arm and covering his eyes with his hand. Clara snickered.

“You can open your eyes, silly,” she chuckled. When he removed his hand, the garment bag slid off his arm onto the floor. His mouth fell slightly agape, and his pale blue eyes widened with silent shock. Clara kept her eyes fixed on his as they drank in every inch of her. Finally, after several moments of deep observation, he met her gaze and strode over to her until their faces were mere inches apart. He raised a long, pale hand and gently cupped the side of her face. He inhaled as if to speak, then looked over her shoulder.

“Mina, could you give us a moment?”

Mina grinned and made her way to the bedroom door, scooping up Benedict’s suit. “You have five minutes, and if I see one hair out of place on her head, you’ll be hearing from me.” With that, she closed the door behind her. Benedict returned his gaze to Clara’s.

“You are a vision,” he murmured, stroking his thumb across her cheek. “Even if I don’t win tonight – ”

“You will,” Clara urged.

“But if I don’t,” he continued, shaking his head, “I’m still the luckiest, most blessed man on earth, because I get to fall asleep next to you tonight.”

Clara felt herself blush as a tingling sensation spread from the place where his hand contacted her face throughout her body. She stayed composed, letting her eyelids droop seductively as she spoke.

“I’d have you right now,” she muttered. The corner of her mouth twitched up in a mischievous smile as she watched Benedict’s tongue flick out to moisten his lower lip, a hallmark indicator that he shared a similar inclination. She leaned forward and pressed a soft, longing kiss on his lips, pulling away just as his tongue tried to push into her mouth.

“If we weren’t already running late,” she breathed, chuckling softly as she wiped a smudge of lipstick from the corner of his mouth. “Now get ready! I’ll send Mina in after you’ve changed.” Clara was conscious of his eyes on her back as she left the room, so she made sure to make her strides particularly smooth and elegant as she made her way to the door.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he growled, and Clara smiled, hearing equal parts playfulness and lust in his voice as she closed the door behind her.  
Win or lose, she thought, this was going to be a good night in the Cumberbatch house.


	2. Showtime

The Jag was idling outside the front gate when Benedict finally emerged from the bedroom, at which point it was Clara’s turn to gape speechlessly. His usually tousled, dark-chocolate coloured curls were slicked to the sides, giving even greater prominence to his already arresting gaze. The suit he wore was a bespoke Spencer Hart concoction: a simple, modern tux cut to complement his slender silhouette, finished with an understated white pocket square tucked neatly in the breast pocket. Clara realised she had been staring too long, for when he looked up from adjusting his wristwatch, he smiled roguishly.

“You like it, then?” he asked, arching his eyebrows as he flattened the front of the jacket with his hands. Clara tilted her head to the side and folded her arms across her chest, biting her lip as she gave him a much more exaggerated once-over.

“My compliments to Mr Hart for another job superbly done,” she intoned, deepening her voice just enough that Benedict stopped in his tracks, his hands freezing over Clara’s shawl which had been draped over one of the dining room chairs. Before he could compose himself enough to reply, Mina entered the kitchen, having slung both of the large cases over her shoulders once more.

“The car’s outside, and there’s time for a couple of photos, Clara, if you still want to take them. Just remember when you get back that the box for the necklace is on your bureau.” She held the door open as Benedict handed Clara her shawl and handbag, and the two of them made their way out into the late afternoon sunlight. Benedict squinted as he emerged from the darkened interior of the house, but the shade of the willow tree in the front garden provided ample cover for photographs. Mina did the honours, and after several shots that reminded Clara vividly of secondary school dances, Benedict guided his girlfriend by the small of her back through the garden gate to the sleek black car that waited outside.

Clara and Benedict spoke little as the car wound its way through Hampstead Heath south toward Covent Garden, though periodically Clara would move her hand to rest atop Benedict’s or smooth the hair on his head in a silent gesture of reassurance. His countenance was thoughtful, and Clara could see that, try though he might to conceal it, he was nervous. When the car turned off Charing Cross road toward the Royal Opera House, she leaned over to him.

“You’ve got this, Ben.” She paused to squeeze his hand. “The presentation for Steven will be perfect, you and Matt know what you’re doing.” A small, mischievous smile crept up around the edges of Benedict’s mouth. “But in all seriousness, darling, you’re one of the most talented actors of your generation. Every other man on that red carpet wishes he were you right now. And just remember,” she took advantage of his far-off gaze to surprise him with a tender kiss on the cheek. He turned to face her expectantly. She smiled wryly. “You’ve got an exceptionally beautiful woman at your back.” He beamed and squeezed her hand back, using his other hand to softly tuck away a bit of fringe that covered her left eye.  The car began to gently decelerate as it approached the red carpet outside the opera house. As the car door opened for him, she called after him, “Go get ‘em, tiger!” and watched him affectionately as he sprung from his seat, fastened his jacket button between nimble fingers. He made to walk over to his publicist, who was waiting near a flock of interviewers, but stopped with a small, skipping step, made an about face, and walked back to help Clara out of the car.

Benedict was in his element as he made his way down the line of photographers and television reporters, while Clara for the most part stayed nearby, but in the background. About ten minutes after walking onto the red carpet, Benedict whirled around mid-interview and waved her over. Clara felt her whole body tense as she made her way over, though once she arrived next to him, Benedict snaked his arm around her waist and she felt herself relax into his touch. The interviewer was a petite blonde woman attired in a pale yellow shift dress. Clara fought back a frown when she saw how thin and sprightly she was. _Don’t be stupid, Clara_ , she thought to herself, _Benedict’s_ your _date, not hers. There’s no reason to be jealous_.

"Clara, you look absolutely gorgeous tonight!"

“Thank you.” _So far, so good,_ Clara thought.

“Can you tell us who you’re wearing? This is a stunning gown!”

“Thank you, yes, it’s a BCBG Max Azria gown and the heels are Christian Louboutin.” Clara felt herself easing up even more, smiling at the ease of the questions. She snuck a glance at Benedict, who was beaming at her unabashedly. The interviewer spoke again.

“So tell us, Clara, where did you and Benedict meet?”

The split second after the question was asked, Clara wanted nothing more than to run away. It was questions like this that made her glad that she didn’t normally have to go to these things; they were hotbeds of rumormongering and invasive interrogations. But Ben had prepared her for this. She put on a confident smile as she replied,

“We actually met on the set of _Sherlock_. I’ve been assisting Mark and Steven for a few years now, and they had me come on board for series two, which was where I met this guy one chilly September morning in Cardiff. So, uh, yeah.” Clara looked over at Benedict, who gave a curt nod and smiled affirmatively, and after one final question about his work on _Star Trek_ , the interviewer thanked him, and the couple made their way into the opera house where, after another hour of schmoozing and rubbing elbows with the most famous and influential names in British entertainment, and after enough champagne was served to drown an elephant, Benedict and Clara sat down next to Martin Freeman and his wife, Amanda, and the ceremony began.

~

_The camera closed in on Benedict as the envelope was opened. Clara squeezed his hand tightly, and looking over she saw a single bead of perspiration roll off his forehead. The name that sounded through the hall wasn’t his, but Clara was too focused on Benedict to hear or care who it was. He applauded along with everyone else, and the winner began to make his speech. All of a sudden he smiled a dazzling smile, mouthed “I’m sorry” to the nearby camera while shaking his head, and for the rest of the show, it was as if nothing had happened at all._

 

 


	3. Aftershocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, alright, you want sexytimes? Here's the sexytimes. Treat yo'self.

Benedict talked nonstop for the entire drive back to his Hampstead home. Clara let him speak, occasionally giving a one or two-word response whenever he asked her a question. She was worried about him. To be sure, all public events filled him up with nervous energy that usually took several hours to expend, but this time was different. He was creating conversation that he could control, hardly stopping for breath as the car wound through the last few brightly lit streets before entering the darkened suburbs of London.

When the car finally reached the front gate, Benedict paused his monologue about the next day’s filming schedule in Cardiff to thank the driver, slid out of the car, and held the door as Clara stepped out. She was proud of herself for not spilling anything on the dress, though her thoughts were now pre-eminently with Benedict’s well-being. She linked her arm through his as they made their way up the gravel path to the gate, where Benedict typed in the key code on a panel laid into the brick wall next to it. The gate unlocked with a metallic thud and the couple walked through, Clara desperately trying to find the words that would elicit an honest response from him, but unable to think of anything suitable for this particular situation, she remained silent.

Upon entering the house, Benedict strode over to the refrigerator, grabbed a beer, shut the door with unusual force, and stalked gloomily back to the bedroom, leaving Clara standing alone by the dining room table. She tossed her handbag on the table, when suddenly she heard music emanating from the bedroom. She carefully removed her shoes so as to make as little noise as possible and crept quietly down the hallway. The door was slightly ajar. Clara held her ear up to the door; Benedict was singing softly along to the music.

“ _Oh simple thing/ Where have you gone?/ I’m getting old and I need something to rely on…_ ”

Clara pushed the door open silently. Benedict was standing in front of the window, barefoot, his jacket discarded on the bed. He slowly undid his tie, followed by the buttons on his shirtsleeves as he stared out into the darkened street. Clara entered the room silently, padding stealthily over so that she stood directly behind him without him noticing, or so she thought. He’d seen her, though, and when she wrapped her arms around his torso and held tight against his back, he didn’t start, but rather pushed gently against her arms in a silent request for release. When Clara let go, albeit begrudgingly, Benedict turned around to face her, a weak smile turning up the corners of his mouth. He pulled her in with one hand on the small of her back, the other reached down and laced itself between the fingers of her right hand. They began to sway slowly in place, and after a time she leaned her head on his chest. As the final notes of the song faded, she felt a soft kiss pressed on top of her head, followed by the feeling of Benedict, once again, slipping away from her. She watched him as he sat down on the edge of the bed, now unbuttoning the front of his shirt and pulling it out from the waistband of his trousers. His eyes seemed to be filled with the gloom of a ghostly shipwreck. She gave a quiet snort of consternation; she had to do something. She strode over to him and turned so that her back faced him.

“Unzip me, please.” She looked over her shoulder expectantly. Benedict, who previously had just looked tired, now looked slightly perplexed as he reached up to pull the zipper down the back of her dress. She pulled the clips out of her hair, letting it tumble down to her shoulders. When Benedict finished unzipping the dress, she let it fall down around her feet and stepped out of it. She crawled onto the bed and knelt behind him, gently massaging his bare shoulders. He leaned back as she worked her thumbs in circles, releasing the tension from his trapezius muscles.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked him.

“Not really, no,” he murmured, stretching his neck slowly from side to side. “Dominic completely deserved the award, and I told him so.”

“I don’t understand how it is you’re always so unselfish with these things. You deserved it as much as he did.”

Benedict exhaled and let his head loll to one side as Clara kneaded her fingers gently into his shoulders. “I don’t need a trophy to prove that I’ve done good work.”

“Of course not,” Clara smiled, pressing a kiss into the side of his neck. “I’m so proud of you, Benedict. For everything.”

He turned around and looked up at Clara who was still on her knees. “Right now all I want to do is make love to you and forget about everything else.” He reached up to grasp the side of her face and pulled her in for a deep kiss. Clara broke the kiss, startling Benedict and causing him to lose balance slightly. She moved back on the bed, wordlessly inviting Benedict to follow suit. He had already begun to unbuckle his belt, and within moments he was on the bed, straddling Clara around her thighs. He gently spread her legs with his knee as he lowered himself on top of her, placing his hands on either side of her.

He leaned forward, pressing the weight of his lower body against Clara’s as he kissed her, this time more urgently than before. She reached her hand between them and took his straining erection in her hand, which ripped from Benedict’s throat such a guttural, animal groan that Clara could feel a flood of warmth between her own legs as the sound vibrated through her body. Barely a moment later, she felt Benedict’s long, nimble fingers reach down and brush against her own, pushing aside her knickers and lightly stroking her clitoris. The sensation got the better of Clara, and she instinctively flung both hands behind her head, biting back a moan of satisfaction as he pressed two fingers inside of her. She felt his hot breath as his mouth hovered over hers, slowly becoming undone as he thrust his fingers rhythmically into her. When one particularly well-executed stroke made her whimper with longing, Benedict removed his fingers and manually guided his cock to her entrance, and with a slow, unguarded kiss, he gradually pushed inside her.

This wasn’t the kind of sex Clara had expected tonight; she assumed it would have been something more celebratory. This was different; it felt more like consolation, reassurance. As his hips rolled fluidly against hers, moving in and out with an uncharacteristic patience and concentration, his eyes never moved from hers. In spite of his earlier statement to the contrary, Clara knew that he was upset about the BAFTA. This was where the _real_ conversation was taking place, not spoken but communicated through the movement of their bodies against each other. Clara moved her hand into his hair and traced slow circles with her fingertips, and slowly he closed his eyes. After one thrust Clara squeezed firmly around him, causing a sharp intake of breath and his eyes flashed open, full of a fresh hunger that hadn’t been there before. He hitched Clara’s legs over his shoulders and quickened his pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin seeming to drive him further into frenzy. In six short, powerful thrusts, Clara felt his release, throbbing warmly inside of her. He released her legs as she pulled him down for a final kiss, wrapping her wrists behind his neck and pulling him closer to her. The sweat glistening on his chest dripped onto her own, and in one swift motion he rolled them over so that he was lying on his back and she was on top. She lifted her hips just enough to release his softening member, and after playfully biting at his lower lip she slid to his side and lay her head on his shoulder. He slid his arm around her and pulled her close.

“It would’ve been nice, though, if I had won,” he sighed.

“I know, love,” Clara replied, pressing a kiss into his shoulder blade. “But you were nominated, which is an incredible honour, and for my part,” she grinned cheekily, “I got to spend the evening with the most talented, hard-working, _attractive_ man in Britain.” He chuckled quietly. “So the evening wasn’t a total loss.”

“You always say exactly the right thing to make me feel better,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Bed?”

“Bed,” Clara smiled, and Benedict reached for the lamp on the table and switched it off.

*

When she saw the light go off behind the translucent curtains, Lauren fought back the tears that had been building for the last ten minutes. She knew what she was doing was wrong, that if anyone found out she’d face criminal charges. Just this once, though, she didn’t care. She wanted nothing more to be the woman in there with him. She exhaled slowly, picked up her bag off the ground, and walked down the darkened pavement to the main road.


End file.
